


Dust and Devils (On My Conscience)

by catwrites



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Fix-It of Sorts, M/M, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 11:12:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17724092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catwrites/pseuds/catwrites
Summary: Charles has never intended to end up in a gang. There's a danger involved when creatures like him spend too long with a group. The wolf was lonely, though. At the end of the day, maybe Charles was too.(In which everything is mostly the same, but Charles is hiding a hairy secret.)





	Dust and Devils (On My Conscience)

**Author's Note:**

> Howdy y'all. This is my first rdr2 fic, so hopefully it passes the test. 
> 
> Despite all the events from canon I kept, TB is not one of them. So, uh, no TB because I could.
> 
> Title from the song "Chasing Twisters" by Delta Rae. 
> 
> Not beta'd. That's all folks.

The moon is a hazy disk through the fog on the night that Charles gets bit. He won't remember that. He won’t remember getting separated from the other members of his tribe. He won't remember calling out their names in hushed whispers. He won't remember any of that. When he wakes up with the sun high above and a bite mark already scaring on his arm, all he remembers from the night before is the silence. 

The forest had been still. No wind, no animals. Nothing. Just quiet. That should have been a warning of its own, but Charles hasn't always been the quickest to listen to his instincts.

Perhaps by some miracle he doesn't remember the attack, or the pain that he must have felt. He wakes up disoriented, and while he doesn't remember, it doesn't take him very long to piece it all together.

He sees the blood, and the tracks in the dirt, and finally the shiny skin of a new scar on his arm. With all these facts adding up to one obvious conclusion, he’s left with no choice. He knows the legends about werewolves. He knows how dangerous they are, even to people they care about. 

So, he does the only thing he can. He runs. Runs away from his home and his family and his tribe because it’s the only thing he can do to keep them safe from the monster he’s become. 

Charles just didn’t realize how lonely he would be. He’s never been one to pine for company. He’s been fine on his own before. For hunts, for scouting missions. It’s never bothered him the way being along grates on him now. It’s a constant ache. An arrow tip left in a wound. It _hurts_.

In his dreams, the wolf howls and howls, calling to something that never seems to answer.

He knows wolves are pack creatures. Perhaps the caricature of a wolf that lives in the back of his head is a pack creature too. He can’t imagine it. A pack of the beast he turns into when the moon is full, or when he loses control of his emotions. A group of them, all together and stalking through the night. He doesn’t want to consider the possibility. 

He will carry the hurt if it means he’s less likely to cause anyone harm. 

The thing is, he _has_ caused people harm. Both with a weapon in his human hands, and with the teeth of the creature who shares his body. The killings he’s done as a human bother him less. He has control, and most of the time, it’s a matter of survival. The wolf, though. It’s an unfair advantage. It’s cheating. Plus, there’s a chance he leaves the victim alive. Leaves behind a monster. 

He does his best to stay away from civilization during the full moons, and does his best to keep a firm hand on his emotions the rest of the time. As long as he doesn’t lose control, he’s fine. He gets good at letting things roll off his back. Turn the other cheek. Let the blow land, and don’t rise to the bait. Don’t let the wolf out, even though the wolf is right there, always. Ready to defend him. 

_Let me. Angry. Hurt. Let me,_ it whispers. Its hackles are up, and Charles can feel it snarling in his mind. 

He wipes the blood from his face, and turns his back on the man who punched him just for existing. It would be so satisfying, he thinks, but no. He’s better than that. He won’t use the wolf in him as a weapon. 

He survives. He learns. He makes mistakes. He’s lonely. With the passage of time, it’s not as sharp, but the pain of it is there. The wolf doesn’t like it, paces in the back of his mind restlessly. It longs for companionship. It longs for a pack. It’s just… better this way. Safer.

It stays that way for a while.

In the end, it’s an accident that he falls in with the van der Linde gang. 

He’s in a saloon, nursing a drink in the corner, when the guys who have been shooting him dirty looks from the bar make their move. He keeps his eyes down until they force the issue. 

It starts with name calling. It generally does. He’s used to the things people say about him because of his skin color. He doesn’t react. There’s something burning under his skin, though. He feels restless and unsettled, and the wolf feels it, too. Feels the opening it’s about to have. Charles has gotten good at knowing when the wolf is about to slip its leash. 

_No,_ he thinks desperately. 

He shudders, and his knuckles go white against the glass in his hand. He grinds his teeth together. 

“Well, what do we have going on over here?”

Charles glances at the new comer anxiously. 

“None of your business, old man.”

“Seeing as this fine gentleman was bothering no one, and you fellows started in on him, it might be time someone else got involved.”

The saloon has fallen silent. One of the other men at the bar stands up. 

“Alright, Hosea?”

The older man, Hosea, smiles, and doesn’t look back at his companion. “I think so, Arthur. Just making friends.”

Arthur scowls at the group that had been hassling Charles, and they scatter like the cowards they are.

Charles focuses on the grains in the wood before him, trying to rein the wolf back in. It relents with a final growl. 

“Suppose I ought to thank you for stepping in when you did. Things were about to get messy.”

“I’m sure you would have handled it. You look to be the reasonable sort.”

Charles doesn’t say anything to that as Arthur approaches from the bar. 

“We should be gettin’ back, Hosea. Dutch’ll be expectin’ us.”

Hosea gestures to the chair across from Charles, and after a beat, Charles tips his head. Hosea sits.

“Dutch will manage without us for another hour, Arthur. Sit. Loosen up, some.”

Arthur rolls his eyes, and then shrugs at Charles almost helplessly. 

“If you don’t want him buttin’ in on your night, you gotta be firm and tell him. He’s like a burr, this one. He’ll stick around until you pick him off.”

Charles should accept that out, and kindly tell them both to get lost. He should. He opens his mouth.

“I don’t mind.”

The wolf perks up in interest. 

Arthur snorts, but sits easily enough. “I hope you know this kind fool is humoring you, Hosea.”

“On the contrary, I think he’s in need of some friends. Much like yourself, only he’s clearly better socialized. What’s your name, son?” 

“Charles Smith.”

Hosea reaches out and shakes his hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m Hosea Matthews. This is Arthur Morgan.” 

Arthur and Hosea do most of the talking. Charles sits and listens. It’s nice to be a part of something. The wolf is rumbling and content in the back of his mind. It’s the best he’s felt since he got bit, if he’s being honest.

At a certain point, Arthur stands. “We really ought to be gettin’ back. We’ve been gone longer than was expected. Dutch’ll worry.”

Hosea glances up at Arthur. They seem to have a conversation silently that mostly consist of Hosea frowning and Arthur’s eyebrows climbing higher into his hairline. Eventually, Arthur throws his arms up and stalks out the front while Hosea smiles triumphantly. 

“You have someplace to go back to?” 

Charles glances up at him sharply. Instinctually, he wants to bristle, thinking this must be pity. He looks sorry enough that this stranger wants to offer him some kind of charity. Hosea’s eyes are kind, though, and Charles doesn’t see pity there. 

That’s how he ends up following carefully behind Hosea out to where Arthur is waiting, already mounted up in his saddle. Arthur doesn’t look surprised to see him.

“Where’s your horse tied?”

“I don’t have one,” he admits. 

Horses, and most animals, tend to be skittish around him. It’s hard to get one to trust him, let alone allow him to ride.

Hosea frowns. “No matter. Arthur, let our new friend up with you.”

Arthur doesn’t argue, and Charles approaches the horse carefully. 

It eyes him, but doesn’t do more than snort as he gets close. The horse Hosea has climbed onto, on the other hand, is shifting around nervously as it nears where he’s standing by Arthur’s mount.

“She’s a good horse. Ain’t gonna buck us unless you do something stupid now,” Arthur says.

Charles swings up, careful of where he puts his hands. 

“You afraid of horses?” Arthur asks after a beat once they’ve set off, but there’s no judgment in his voice.

“Not at all. Horses tend not to like me.”

“Just gotta find the right one’s all. We’ll work on that.”

“We?”

Arthur scoffs. “If Hosea says you’re riding with us, that’s the fact of the matter. Not even Dutch can tell Hosea what to do.”

The wolf preens. Charles does his best to ignore it.

His first night in camp, he dreams of a stag. There’s no wolf in sight, just a deer standing by a stream. There’s something soft about it. Something calming. The wolf is relaxed when he wakes up, just an easy presence in the back of his mind.

He knows he shouldn’t stay. He really shouldn’t stay. 

He tells himself that at least if things go south, he’s fallen in with a group of thieves and murderers. He doesn’t think about the women, or the little boy, Jack. It’s best if he pushes those thoughts aside. He keeps to himself, on the fringe edges of the group. Every time he considers leaving, the wolf snarls and fights like their lives depend on it. 

He can’t deny the wolf has been calmer, easier to manage, since he’s joined up with the gang. He stays.

_Pack,_ the wolf insists anytime he tries to reason with it. Eventually, he admits defeat. 

True to his word, Arthur does help him find a horse. An appaloosa who doesn’t seem bothered by him in the slightest. The only other horse in camp that doesn’t skitter away from him is Arthur’s mount. He thinks it should be a warning to the gang, but they seem oblivious to what kind of instincts animals have about the nature of people.

Arthur is the only one, aside from Hosea, who will intentionally seek Charles out, even if it’s just so he can sit nearby and write in his journal. Charles doesn’t know what to make of that.

“You’re quiet, and you don’t pester me with annoying requests. It’s nice,” Arthur explains gruffly when he decides to ask.

Charles shrugs and goes back to fletching arrows.

“Another hunting trip in your future?” 

Charles freezes, and then forces himself to relax.

“Gang always needs food, and I’m a decent tracker.”

“Better than decent, with all the game you manage to bring back,” Arthur points out.

Charles nods in acceptance, but doesn’t feel right accepting the compliment it is. The wolf helps. The wolf helps a lot. He was an alright tracker before, but now, he can hear and smell things he couldn’t before. He can see better, especially in the dark. It’s the one advantage of the wolf, aside from the healing, that he doesn’t mind exploiting. 

“Well, if you ever need a hunting partner, I never pass up a chance to get out of camp for a few days.”

Charles keeps his face neutral, and tips his head in acknowledgement. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

They return to companionable silence, and Charles tries not to slump too noticeably with relief.

He goes out on a hunting trips a couple times a month, mostly to cover up for The Hunting Trip. It’s a good excuse to slip off for a few days so the moon can pass. He knows that if he only did it on the full moon, it wouldn’t take too long for some of the gang to get suspicious. It’s true that the gang always needs food, and no one questions it too much when he goes out every other week only to come back with game for Pearson to use. So far, he’s doing a good job of keeping the wolf a secret.

Charles doesn’t really know what makes him ask the first time. He’s getting ready to head out, stuffing provisions and gear into Taima’s saddlebags, when he notices Arthur sitting by the fire drinking coffee.

“Hey Arthur!”

Arthur turns towards him curiously.

“You up for a hunting trip?”

Arthur grins. “Let me get my things.”

Charles invites Arthur along on more hunts. They become something like friends. It’s easy, getting along with Arthur. 

Then Blackwater happens and things get a little hectic for a bit. It’s the closest he’s ever been to losing control of the wolf around the gang. The closest he’s ever come to being found out. He’s almost certain for at least a day or two his canines were sharper than they should have been, and his eyes had a shimmer to them. Not only that, but the hand multiple people saw him burn is already healed. It was healed within the hour after he did it. He keeps it bandaged, and tries to play it up as much as he can. By the time they’re up in Colter, he’s still feeling the wolf right under his skin.

He’s restless, and when Pearson complains about the shortage of food, he jumps on the chance. His ‘burnt’ hand stops him from being able to hunt, but going out with Arthur while Arthur does the hunting soothes him. It’s normal. It’s routine. It’s easy between them like it always is. Even the wolf seems to settle with Arthur near. Around Arthur, the wolf is almost like a puppy. Playful, energetic, happy. It’s nice. Charles likes it when the wolf is happy. When the wolf is happy, he can let his guard down a little. He doesn’t have to try and keep his emotions in check. As long as he’s happy, and the wolf is happy, they’re in harmony. 

It’s probably why he seeks Arthur out as much as he does. 

It’s probably why Arthur is there when he finally does lose control.

Horseshoe Overlook is the best place Charles has been in recent memory. The gang is good and settled, and he finds Arthur dozing under a tree. 

“Up for some hunting?”

Arthur stretches his arms above his head lazily, tipping his head back in a way that exposes his throat. That has the wolf at attention. Normally, that mannerism in humans has the wolf rumbling in satisfaction because it perceives the motion as someone admitting to their dominance. With Arthur right now, it doesn’t feel like that. It feels enraptured. It wants to press their nose closer. To smell where his scent would be strongest at his pulse. 

Charles takes a careful step back. He doesn’t know what that means, or why the wolf would want something like that. Charles doesn’t trust the wolf getting their teeth anywhere near someone’s throat, even without the social faux pas it would be to get into Arthur’s space like that. 

Thankfully, Arthur doesn’t notice anything off about Charles or his train of thought. He just grins up at him and uses the tree to push himself up.

“Sure. Give me a minute, and I’ll meet you by the horses.”

Charles nods and makes a measured retreat to Taima’s side. She sniffs at him curiously, before butting against his shoulder. He pats her, and tries not to dwell on the wolf’s peculiar behavior. 

The wolf’s new hyperfixation on Arthur doesn’t dissipate once they head off. Nor has it faded by the time they’ve settled on a starting spot. In fact, it eats up all the wolf’s attention, and by extension, Charles’s. Instead of hearing the distant sound of branches snapping under hooves, he’s listening to Arthur’s boots crunch along behind him. He doesn’t smell any animals nearby, not even the squirrel sitting in the tree two feet to their left. He can only smell Arthur.

Charles shakes his head, trying to clear it.

_Pay attention,_ he thinks at the wolf. The wolf, however, isn’t even listening to him.

It’s at this moment, attention divided between trying to get the wolf to focus and Arthur trudging along with him, that he steps in the beartrap. 

Charles usually prides himself on his situational awareness, especially with the wolf. His only explanation for why things were different this time is how focused they both were on Arthur. 

His pained scream trails off into a howl, and then the wolf is there. In his time as a werewolf, he’s learned that two things bring on the change: the full moon, and extreme negative feelings. Anger. Sadness… Pain. The wolf does everything it can to protect them from threats. Even if it’s just protecting them from the intense way humans feel emotions.

As soon as the trap snaps closed around his leg, he feels his skin rippling. While he can’t get any lasting injuries with the wolf bolstering him, the feeling of his bone shifting and changing within the confines of the metal teeth is agonizing. The wolf whimpers as soon as it has full control, curling around their leg protectively. 

“Charles!”

The wolf snaps its head around in Arthur’s direction. The pain had briefly distracted them from Arthur’s presence. 

_Don’t hurt him. Don’t you dare hurt him,_ Charles says sharply inside the wolf’s mind. 

Arthur’s face is white with shock, but he steps forward cautiously. “Charles? Are you in there? Listen, I’m gonna come closer, okay? I’m gonna get the trap off your leg.”

The wolf whines, and Charles fights to get some inkling of control back over their body. As Arthur gets closer, the wolf lowers its head and tucks its tail. Charles recognizes it as a submissive position, though the wolf has never done it before.

Arthur must recognize that for what it is because his steps become more confident though he keeps his approach slow.

“That can’t feel too good,” Arthur says, voice soft. 

Arthur’s every move is precise, keeping his actions predictable. Charles can feel that the wolf trusts him. He won’t assume that means the wolf won’t bite him, but he’s cautiously optimistic that as soon as they’re free of the trap, he can get the wolf to run.

Arthur keeps up a steady stream of chatter as he finally gets close enough to start looking at the trap, and then as he pries it open. 

As soon as the wolf can get its leg out, Charles is frantic.

_Run. We can’t stay. You have to run._

The wolf is hesitant, watching Arthur who is watching them.

_Pack?_

Something about the renewed panic Charles feels must bleed over, and the wolf turns and bolts away with one last backwards glance. 

“Charles! Just wait, damnit.”

They run until the wolf finds a small cave it deems a suitable den for the night. The wolf settles in with a huff as Charles thinks. All his stuff is back in camp, and there’s no way he can go back and get it. His horse is with Arthur. She’s probably better off with him anyway. He’ll have to start over from scratch. It’ll be like back when he was first bitten all over again.

The wolf whines unhappily. It doesn’t want to leave their pack.

This is why he didn’t want to fall in with others. This is why he didn’t want to get attached to people. 

_I told you,_ he thinks, but with no heat. It feels like resignation.

Eventually, as the sun sinks lower in the sky, he sleeps.

He dreams of the stag again. He’s walking in the snow, and the stag crosses right in front of him, only to stop in his path. They watch each other for a long moment, before the stag dips its head and continues walking.

He wakes up just before dawn. Charles sits up slowly. His clothes are ruined. He’ll have to figure that out first. His analysis of his current state comes to a pause as he realizes that the wolf is alert and smug in the back of his head. 

Then he hears the sound of a fire, and the soft, even breathing of someone outside. 

_Pack,_ the wolf thinks firmly. _Mine. Ours._

Charles grimaces and staggers clumsily outside where he finds Arthur sleeping, propped up against one of the nearby trees. Close enough to the mouth of the cave that Charles isn’t sure he can get by without waking the other man up. The wolf is delighted. Wants to crawl into Arthur’s lap and make itself at home there. 

Charles shakes his head, and as he’s debating whether or not he should risk trying to sneak by, Arthur jerks awake.

He blinks around blearily, and then his gaze lands on Charles.

“There he is.”

“What are you doing here?”

Arthur frowns at him. He doesn’t answer immediately, turning away to dig in his satchel until he pulls out a wadded bundle of fabric. He tosses it at Charles, who catches it instinctually.

Charles gratefully pulls the pants on.

“What am I doing here, he asks. Well, my friend steps in a bear trap, gets blood all over the place, turns into a wolf, and then darts off on his own once he gets loose. I was worried about you, you stubborn fool. Though I see there’s no damage to that leg.”

“Nothing hurts the wolf.”

Arthur looks thoughtful. “Your hand, back in Blackwater?”

“Healed before we even got out of town.”

Arthur nods. “Well, okay then. That’s reassuring at least. Anyway, after you ran off, I tracked you for the better part of the night until I found your cave.”

Charles blinks in surprise. “You tracked me?”

“I’ve had a good teacher. So, as soon as I found the place, I set up camp. The horses are a little further back. Didn’t want them spooking. You didn’t cause no fuss, but I wanted to be safe.”

“I didn’t cause any fuss?”

Arthur shrugs. “You poked out of the cave when I showed up. I almost thought you were gonna come sit by me, but you just went back inside.”

“The wolf?” Charles clarifies, confused. 

“Yeah. Big, grey thing you turned into? I started setting up the fire, and you kind of came out, made a move like you might come see me, and then decided not. I admit, it hurt my feelins a little that you wouldn’t come sleep out here, but I figure you needed some time to adjust.”

Charles stares at him because Arthur is grinning a little, and it’s clear by his tone that he’s teasing.

“You aren’t angry? Or afraid?”

“If you were meaning to hurt me, you had plenty of opportunity to. There ain’t nothing to be afraid of.”

“I just hope the rest of the gang sees it that way.”

Arthur may accept it, may not be worried, but he won’t expect everyone to be so accepting of him. Of the wolf. Maybe Arthur didn’t shoot him when he had the chance, but that doesn’t mean one of the others won’t. Like Micah. Or Dutch. 

It’d be easier to run than to face that.

Arthur looks at him seriously. “Charles, ain’t no one else need to know about this until you want to tell. It’s your secret to share. If you ain’t a danger to no one, I don’t see any reason I gotta go around telling the world.”

_Mine,_ the wolf thinks fiercely, proud and content.

Charles thinks he should probably refute that, but he’s too touched by Arthur’s willingness to protect him. “Thank you, Arthur. I mean that.”

“You’re a good man, Charles. Good wolf, too, it seems. Now, do you want some of this rabbit I caught earlier, or do I get your share?”

Getting run out of Horseshoe Overlook isn’t a surprise. It is disappointing. It had started feeling like a home. Clemens Point will make a nice substitute, but Charles is finally getting tired of running. He’s always running, it seems.

Charles gets back to camp from the month’s moon, and Arthur isn’t there. At first, he thinks nothing of it. Arthur tends to business and is often gone for days at a time. Then he overhears Hosea and Dutch talking about Colm O’Driscoll and a meeting gone wrong.

“Where’s Arthur?” he asks later, when Hosea is sitting on his own.

Hosea frowns unhappily. “We aren’t sure, but I’m hopeful he’s fine. That boy has a way of getting out of trouble.”

“You think he’s in trouble?”

Hosea grimaces. “Isn’t he always? Micah’s looking into it, but we haven’t heard much. No news is always good news, or so they say.”

Charles doubts that, and Hosea himself doesn’t seem confident. The wolf, who always tends to be on edge when Arthur isn’t in camp, is practically howling in the back of his mind with displeasure. He can admit to himself that the wolf isn’t the only one feeling uneasy.

He spends the rest of the day doing chores around the camp to keep busy. He wants to be here when Micah shows up. 

Micah rides into camp like a returning hero, all bravado and showmanship. Charles scowls as he leans the axe against the tree where he found it.

“Micah!”

“What can I do for you, Mr. Smith?”

“You find any leads on Arthur?” 

Micah shakes his head, then grins. “I’m sure he’s fine, though. Tends to come back. Like a parasite.” 

Charles would love to blame the wolf for the anger that sings through him at that. In truth, it might be an even share. 

He reaches out and grabs Micah by the collar, a growl rising in the back of his throat. A real one that he can’t seem to stop.

Micah is blessedly silent for once, face drained of color. Charles can only guess what his own face is doing. 

“Listen to me, Micah. If something happened to him because of your bad intel, you’re going to regret it. I promise you that. He’s worth ten of you, and I won’t hesitate to get my hands dirty to remind you of the fact.”

Charles lets him go, and watches with satisfaction as he makes a hasty retreat deeper into camp. The satisfaction fades away to worry as soon as it comes. The wolf rumbles, anxious.

“Yeah, I know,” Charles says aloud, frowning.

He dreams, and he’s looking for something. No, the wolf is looking for something, and he knows without knowing how that it’s looking for that stag. It feels worried. 

When Arthur rides into camp, hardly conscious in his saddle and more blood than man, it takes every ounce of bargaining power he has to get the wolf to stay back. Micah is hovering by the tent Arthur has been moved to when Charles wrangles the wolf back enough that he thinks he can find a way to help. It’s only been a few minutes since Arthur came back.

“You better get out of my goddamn sight,” he snarls at the other man as he slips into the tent.

Micah jumps guiltily but Charles doesn’t pause to see what he does next.

Miss Grimshaw glances up as he comes in. “Oh good, Charles. I need your help.”

“Anything.”

“We need medical supplies. What we have isn’t nearly enough for the… extent of what ails Mr. Morgan.”

Charles, who had been carefully avoiding looking at his friend, glances at him now. He wishes he hadn’t. Arthur looks awful. Bruised and bloody. Paler than Charles has ever seen him.

Miss Grimshaw puts a gentle hand on his arm. “He’ll be fine, but I need supplies. He’s lucky to be passed out. Boy’s going to be in a world of pain when he wakes up, so that’s first priority. He cauterized his shoulder himself, and it’s a wonder he managed it as well as he did.”

Charles grits his teeth as the wolf tugs on his control. 

“Okay. Painkillers. What else?”

Miss Grimshaw smiles tightly at him. “Anything else you can get your hands on, if I’m being honest. As much as you can carry and then some.”

Charles nods tightly. “Right. I’ll go now.”

“Hosea went to pull some money from the camp funds for it all. He should be heading back this way now.”

“I’ll catch him outside.”

Hosea looks grim, and the camp is eerily quiet. “Here. You go fast now. Fast as you can.”

Charles nods, taking the wad of cash pushed into his hand. “I wish we’d looked for him harder.”

“Me too, son, but there’s nothing we can do to change what happened. All we can do now is help him heal.”

Charles rides as hard as he can, pushes Taima to her limits, into Rhodes. He pays too much for everything. The doctor can probably see how frantic he is and takes advantage, but he doesn’t care. He shoves Taima’s saddlebags to the point of bursting and puts the rest in his satchel.

He hurries everything back to Miss Grimshaw as soon as he returns, then stands uselessly by as her and Swanson set to work. Charles has to leave as soon as they start unwrapping his shoulder. He has the flimsiest grasp on the wolf’s leash. The sight of it sets his blood boiling and nothing could make today worse than letting go in an enclosed space with people he cares about.

_Let’s go hunting,_ he thinks grimly, and the wolf smiles in the back of his head.

He leaves Taima behind, and has barely cleared sights of Lenny who’s on guard duty before the wolf tugs free. 

They retrace Arthur’s path, staying off the main trail but close enough that the scent is clear. Charles would feel bad about what they’re about to do. He should feel bad, but then he thinks of the way Arthur dropped limply from the saddle. Thinks of Miss Grimshaw talking about how much pain he’s going to be in. About how he must have cauterized the gunshot wound himself. 

He doesn’t feel so guilty then.

The wolf is as focused and alert as Charles has ever felt it. This is the creature he was afraid of. Is afraid of. The wolf has never felt like this before. 

The O’Driscolls camp is still set up when they get there. Charles figured they might have to go looking, but no. Easy pickings.

He tries not to think too much as the wolf tears through the camp. They get shot three times before the wolf takes down the last man standing. The wolf is unfazed, and the wounds will be healed by the time they make it back to Clemens Point anyway.

Colm isn’t among the dead, and try as they might, the wolf can’t pick up a solid trail when it doesn’t know which one is the right one. 

Charles looks at the carnage through the wolf’s eyes. He doesn’t know what he should feel, but in the end, he doesn’t feel anything at all.

_Let’s go home._

The wolf turns and doesn’t look back. They stop on the way back, at Charles careful negotiations, to wash away the blood in the river. The reflection that stares back at them from the water is everything Charles has worried he’d become. This is why werewolf legends are the way they are. He doesn’t regret what he’s done, though. Not this time. Not for Arthur. 

He figures that they’ll wait out the rest of the night somewhere close by camp, but the wolf keeps walking until Charles gets nervous. 

_You have to stop. We can’t be seen._

_Mine,_ the wolf argues. It doesn’t have the words it needs to explain, but Charles gets the message clear enough. It wants to see Arthur, and not just through Charles.

_It’s too dangerous._

The wolf doesn’t care. It slinks along the outskirts of camp until it can get to the tent where Arthur is. Charles just has to be grateful that at some point they moved him into a closed tent and not the usual open canopy. Gang must have figured he needed to be well protected to recover. 

The wolf is careful, keeping to the shadows and slipping into the tent when its certain no one is looking. 

Arthur is asleep on the cot, a mess of bandages under the thin sheet. The wolf approaches the bed, sniffing out for anything serious, anything that smells like fresh blood. Satisfied, it only hesitates a moment before it hops gracefully up onto the bed and settles against Arthur’s side. The cot is hardly wide enough for the two of them, meaning the wolf ends up across Arthur’s legs more than the bed itself.

_We can’t stay in here,_ Charles thinks, horrified. 

The wolf drops its head down onto its paws in defiance. 

Charles gives up on trying to reason with it, and tries to keep extra focused on the noise around the camp. Even still, they’re found by none other than John Marston some thirty minutes later.

“What the-“ John says, startled, as a hand drops down to his gun.

The wolf starts up a low growl, but doesn’t seem inclined to lift its head from where it’s resting on Arthur’s hip.

John makes to lean back out of the tent, and Charles is helpless to do anything to stop him, when a hand lands on the top of the wolf’s head. The hand runs gently between its ears, digging pleasantly into the fur at the scruff of the wolf’s neck.

It startles both the wolf and John into silence. No one has touched the wolf before, has touched them when they were like this. 

“Shh. S’okay. Back up, Marston. He ain’t too keen on new people after everything.”

“What the fuck is that?”

“What’s it look like? Just a dog, John. Now, let me sleep. My head is killing me.”

“If that’s a dog, then I’m a famous writer.”

Arthur groans, hand still casually stroking along coarse fur. “Well what else would it be?”

“Looks a lot like a damn wolf. I been up close with wolves. Reckon I’d be pretty good at recognizing them.”

Arthur scoffs. “What kind of wolf would be this calm, lettin’ me pet it like a dog?”

John looks unconvinced, but he doesn’t go running for help or unholster his gun. Charles will take it.

“Whatever. Don’t get eaten after everything we’ve done to put you back together.”

Arthur waves his other hand lazily. 

John snorts and turns around. “I’ll leave you to your beauty rest. Seems like you got a good guard ‘dog’ to keep ya safe.”

He disappears out the way he came, and Charles hears him hollering to the camp at large. “He’s good. Told me to get lost cause he needs his beauty sleep.”

Arthur sighs fondly, hand resting casually on the wolf. 

Arthur sounds like he’s already drifting back to sleep. “You silly mutt. You shouldn’t be here, but I’m glad to see ya. I’ve missed you.”

The wolf turns and licks Arthur’s arm, which gets a laugh in return.

It isn’t long before Arthur drifts back to sleep. The wolf stays alert, keeping watch through the night, and slips out of the tent before the sun fully starts to rise.

Charles is sitting with Arthur when John comes in with Javier. 

“So, we found the O’Driscolls’ camp. Something else found it before we got there.”

Arthur frowns at them, sitting up a little more in his pillows. “What’s that mean?”

“Means when we got there, there was nothing but bodies. “

Javier shakes his head. “Calling those bodies is generous, amigo.”

John grimaces. “There weren’t much left intact. I ain’t never seen anything like it. Bill had to leave. Think he might’ve been sick otherwise.”

Arthur glances at Charles. “That right?”

Charles raises an eyebrow, keeps his tone even. “I didn’t see it. I was here with you.”

Arthur squints at him. “Right.”

They all talk for a minute, checking up on Arthur’s health, before Javier heads out with a wave. “Just wanted to let you know we went looking. Nothing left for us to do.”

John looks around the tent as soon as Javier is gone.

“Where’s your dog?”

Arthur shrugs. “I’m sure he’s fine. He don’t really belong to me. Don’t belong to no one.”

“Uh huh. Well, I’d be careful if it shows up again.”

“I don’t get your meaning.”

John puts his hands up at Arthur’s tone. “Look, I ain’t saying nothing, but you didn’t see the bodies. Something ripped them apart. Absolutely shredded them to pieces. There were some tracks around. Pawprints. Seems quite a coincidence is all I’m saying.”

Charles keeps his attention carefully focused on the gun he’d been cleaning when the others walked in. 

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

It’s quiet once it’s just the two of them again.

“Is what he’s insinuating true?”

Charles doesn’t meet Arthur’s eyes. His heart is pounding in his ears. This is where it all goes wrong. He sets the gun on the bed by Arthur’s hand, folding his own in his lap and keeping his head bowed. 

“Don’t you do that.”

Charles glances up. “Do what?”

Arthur scowls at him. “Act like you’re afraid of me.” 

“I’m not afraid of you.”

“Okay, you’re not afraid of me. How about you don’t act like you think I should be punishing you for something, then.”

“I’m not.”

Arthur glances pointedly down at the gun. He picks it up and holds it out handle first to Charles. “Then take this back.”

Charles stares at it, but can’t bring himself to reach for it.

“Charles. Charles, look at me.”

When he does, Arthur’s gaze is steady.

“I’m not afraid of you, and nothing you do is going to change that. So far, all you’ve ever done as a wolf is protect me. You could have gone after John yesterday, but you didn’t. You could have gone after me all those months ago when we went hunting. You didn’t. You’re dangerous, sure, but I don’t think your dangerous to us. To this gang.”

“I hope you’re right, but Arthur, I need you to promise me something.”

“Sure.”

Charles pushes the gun back towards Arthur. “If you ever think that’s not true… If I ever become dangerous to someone in this camp, you gotta stop me. Whatever it takes.”

Arthur stares at him. “I don’t know if I can do that.”

Charles shakes his head. “Listen to me. If I ever hurt someone here, I couldn’t live with myself. I wouldn’t. You’re the only one who knows, and you’re the only one I trust. It’d have to be you.”

“That’s not fair of you to ask me that.”

“I know it’s not. I know. I’m sorry, but it’d have to be you.”

“Okay, Charles. Okay.”

Life in the camp goes on. 

Then it falls apart.

He hates Shady Belle. Hates the smell of it, hates the smog from Saint Denise that blows in. 

He doesn’t understand what Dutch is trying to do, and he’s not the only one. 

Though it’s in Saint Denise that he meets Rains Fall. Rains Fall isn’t like him, but that doesn’t stop the Chief from taking one look at him and knowing.

“It has been a long time since I met someone like you,” Rains Fall says quietly.

His calm tone stops Charles from immediately running. He’s never had someone just look at him and know. Know the secret he tries to keep buried. 

“You are afraid, but you have nothing to fear from me.”

Before he can say anything, Rains Fall is being beckoned by another man.

“I must go, but we should talk some time. I can help.”

Charles watches him go, perplexed, and figures he’ll never see the other man again.

Then Dutch has a plan about the bank.

Hitting a bank in the middle of such a big city was a reckless plan to begin with, and then everything that happened as a direct result. Hosea and Lenny. John. 

The wolf is adamant that the have to get Arthur out. Out of Saint Denise and onto that boat. 

So, he draws the guards away and hopes that it’s enough. The wolf is listless, after. It hardly responds to anything Charles says or does. He distracts himself with helping Sadie keep the rest of the gang together. He doesn’t have time to figure out the wolf. Not yet.

At night, the wolf howls in his dreams. Far in the distance, almost too faint to hear, he can hear the stag calling back.

When Arthur returns, battered but alive, Charles can’t even describe the relief he feels. He hardly stops to think as he pulls Arthur into a hug. The wolf is right under his skin, and Charles has to stop himself from setting his teeth against the corner of Arthur’s jaw like the wolf wants him to.

“I was worried sick. What happened to you?”

Arthur grins, tired, but genuine and soft. “It’s a long story. It’s good to see you.”

The gang is on a downward spiral. It seems like things are going wrong left and right, not to mention the problems Charles is suddenly involved in with the Wapiti tribe. He can’t not help them, though. Not after how Rains Fall has helped him with the wolf. When he sends Arthur away, that strong sense of understanding that’d he’d been building with the wolf snaps in half. 

It’s like when Arthur was gone on Guarma and they didn’t know if he was alive or dead, but worse. So much worse. Charles can hardly feel the wolf at all. He’s only certain it’s still there because it occasionally whines, this awful, high-pitched noise that Charles feels deep in his chest like a physical pain. The rest of the time, he just feels empty. 

The full moon comes and goes, and Charles doesn’t change. 

He sleeps fitfully, and dreams that there’s someone hunting the stag. He wakes up before he can scare it away from what is clearly a trap, and he’s so uneasy afterwards that he can’t go back to sleep.

Rains Fall finds him in the morning.

“You cannot stay here.”

Charles looks up from the wagon he was loading. “My ability to work isn’t changed. I can still help you, even without the wolf.”

Rains Fall shakes his head. “You misunderstand me. You cannot stay here and be happy. You have spent so long thinking of the wolf as something outside yourself that you are able to pretend it is only the wolf that is hurting. Mated as you are, you won’t be happy here. I didn’t realize, though I suppose it was obvious.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Don’t pretend. You are a smart man, Charles. You know, just as I know. If you wish to return, Arthur Morgan is always welcome here, but you cannot be here without him. You won’t survive. It’s already hurting you more than you realize. I can tell.”

The wolf is listening now that Arthur’s name has come up. Charles feels the hopeful shift immediately. 

“It is a dangerous thing, to be tied to someone the way you are to him, but you are also stronger for it. You should go, before the bond you have is damaged beyond repair.”

Before Charles has consciously acknowledged that Rains Fall is right, and that he should leave, the wolf has taken control, and they’re running. Running faster than Charles thinks he has ever run before. 

They get back to Beaver Hollow in time to see the standoff. They stalk up the slope towards where Micah is.

“-quiet Mr. Bell,” Miss Grimshaw is saying, and Charles takes the chance.

The wolf leaps and manages to grab Micah’s outstretched arm right as Javier burst onto the scene. 

His warning about Pinkertons is immediately lost in the commotion of the wolf’s appearance. 

Arthur takes the distraction as a chance to drop both of Micah’s hired guns before they can turn on Charles. 

The shouting gets louder, but Charles doesn’t pay attention to anything until Micah is no longer moving on the ground. 

When he turns back to the group, Arthur is pointing a gun at Javier, and Miss Grimshaw has her shotgun carefully trained on Dutch. They have John hidden between them. Bill is holding his pistol loosely, eyes flicking back and forth between Micah’s body and Charles.

“He was selling us out, Dutch. To the Pinkertons. It weren’t Molly. You know it. We all know it.”

The group stands there, guns drawn. A standoff if Charles has ever seen one, though if Javier was right about Pinkertons, they don’t have time for this. Charles makes to go to Arthur’s side, and Bill’s gun whips up and in his direction. The wolf snarls at him.

John shakes his head. “I wouldn’t, if I were you. You think you stand a chance against that when a whole camp of O’Driscolls didn’t?”

Bill gulps nervously. “How do you know?”

“Good guess. You saw the prints in the dirt, and then I saw that thing sleeping in Arhtur’s tent. Didn’t take a genius.” 

“He won’t hurt you unless you give him a reason to, ain’t that right Charles?” 

Charles steps up to Arthur’s side, ready to move if he needs to.

“Charles? That’s not-“

“Not to interrupt this, but if Javier is telling us right about the Pinkertons, we don’t have time for this. Are we in it together, or not?” Arthur demands, echoing Charles’s earlier thoughts, gun shifting to Dutch.

Dutch sneers at him.

“Don’t make me do it, Dutch. If it comes down to the four of us on this side and you, I won’t be choosing you.”

“I was going to get us out of this. I had a plan. All I needed was for you to trust me. Just a little faith. Come to find out you’ve been working behind my back with this… thing?” Dutch says, gesturing at Charles. “You’ve been turning my family against me. No, I’m afraid I can’t have that, son.”

Miss Grimshaw pulls the trigger on her shotgun, and Dutch staggers. He turns to her, shocked, but it’s too late.

“Javier, Bill. Last chance. We have to get out of here,” she says firmly. 

They can hear the distant sound of Pinkertons shouting orders and getting in position. 

“If we go through the caves, we can get around then without them realizing. We have to go now, though,” John says.

Arthur shakes his head. “Charles ain’t going to be able to get through the caves like this.”

Charles breathes out hard through his nose, focusing on the wolf and pulls. He’s never managed to change before the wolf has had its full twelve hours, but it must know the danger here because it relents with no fight.

He stands tall in the shocked silence, and grabs the closest change of clothes he can find. 

“Come on, through the caves. There’s no more time,” Charles says, ignoring all the stunned faces.

John shakes off the shock and nods, leading the way.

Arthur spares one final glance to Bill and Javier, before he follows.

“Miss Grimshaw, come along. Charles, let’s go.”

John leads them through the caves. Bill and Javier don’t follow.

“Where’s Abigail? And Jack?” John calls back to Arthur.

“They’re safe, waiting for you at Copperhead Landing. Tilly got Jack out, and Sadie took Abigail. We’ll get to them once we get out of here.”

The rest of their mad dash to escape is done mostly in silence. By the time they’re clear of the Pinkertons and on their way to where the women and Jack are waiting, everyone is out of breath and exhausted. They manage to steal some horses in Annesburg, and then ride to Copperhead Landing as casually as they dare.

Charles has taken the rear of the procession, figuring he has a better chance of noticing someone following them than the others. Arthur drops back to his side as John sets a determined pace in the lead.

“You came back.”

Charles nods. “Figured you needed my help more.”

“Thank you,” Arthurs says softly.

Charles slows just enough so that Miss Grimshaw gets ahead and won’t overhear what he says next.

“I couldn’t stay there without you. Rains Fall said I’m mated to you, and I didn’t realize until he said it, but he’s right.”

Arthur nods slowly. “Okay. So what does that mean?”

Charles shrugs helplessly. “Whatever you want it to mean. For me, it means I want to be where you are. Beyond that, well, that’s up to you. It doesn’t have to be more than that.”

Arthur is quiet for a long time, thinking.

By the time they’re approaching Copperhead Landing, Arthur slows his horse until he comes to a stop. Charles stops beside him.

They watch quietly as John and Miss Grimshaw get to where the others are. Abigail pulls John into a tight hug, Jack between them. Tilly accepts the hug form Miss Grimshaw. They’re far enough away that they don’t hear what’s being said, but it’s clear that someone asks of their whereabouts. 

Charles waves when the others glance back, and watches as they move towards where the fire is set up on the far side of the cabin, out of sight. 

“What if I want more than that?” Arthur’s voice is gruff, near embarrassed.

Charles spreads his hands out wide in front of him, trying not to get too hopeful. “Arthur, you can have all of me that you want. Anything I have is yours. Always.”

Arthur nods. “Right.” 

Charles picks up his reins, ready to ride on to where the others are waiting, when Arthurs reaches out and touches his arm.

When he turns to look at him, Arthur leans in closer, balancing carefully in his saddle. 

Charles lifts an eyebrow in invitation, and Arthur huffs a laugh as he leans in the rest of the way to press their lips together. Charles puts a steadying hand on the stolen mare’s neck, and rest the other on Arthur’s. Arthur’s hand is soft against Charles’s cheek, before it drifts around to cradle the back of his head. His fingers run gently through his hair. Charles isn’t sure Arthur is ever anything but gentle. Maybe he’ll get the chance to find out someday. He’s excited for the possibility. 

When they pull apart, Arthur’s cheeks are pink in the light of the moon. Charles smiles, feeling settled in a way he hasn’t in a long time.

“Well, alright then,” Arthur says before clearing his throat.

“Think we’ll be okay now. All of us.”

“Yeah, I think so. Come on, let’s get going before they come back looking.”

Arthur sets off towards what remains of the cabin, and Charles follows.

When he dreams that night, there’s a stag standing tall in a clearing, facing the west. As he watches, a wolf comes to stand at its side, and they head towards the setting sun together.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for readin'. Hope y'all liked it. <3


End file.
